Detectives with Hats
by Psychedelica
Summary: What will happen when Sherlock finally snaps and begins randomly killing people? Based on YouTube's 'Llamas with Hats'; most of dialogue comes from there. (Cracktastic)
1. Handeater

**Parody of FilmCow's '_Llamas with Hats_'. I advise you watch that on YouTube (or wherever) before reading this, but it's okay if you don't want to. It makes sense without the video. Well, when I say _makes sense . . . _You might find it funnier if you've seen the video in the past.**

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><p>John trekked up the stairs to the flat he and Sherlock shared, two shopping bags in each hand. He could hear Sherlock moving around upstairs, and Mrs Hudson was watching television in her room. On his way up, he spotted one of Mrs Hudson's old felt bonnets – a faded red with a plastic yellow flower on top. Knowing Sherlock wouldn't even notice it, he decided to put it on for a laugh, and wondered how long he could go on wearing it before the detective realised.<p>

He put the carrier bags down at the top of the stairs; they were getting too heavy for him to lug any further. He picked up the milk and yogurt – both of which needed to be in the fridge ASAP – and strolled into the living room . . .

. . . And consequently dropped both the milk bottle and the yoghurt.

The furniture had all been pushed to one side of the room, the carpet pulled up and rolled so that the room was completely bare. Sherlock himself was standing over a very bloody, very _dead _body. John had to quickly turn his head away as a wave of nausea struck. He also noticed that Sherlock – strangely enough – was wearing a floppy green striped hat, but seeing as there was a dead, mutilated body on the floor, he decided to get his priorities right.

Slowly, calmly, he approached Sherlock and the body, thinking _oh God, he's finally snapped._ John got a grip on himself as he looked back down at the body's tormented expression, the stab wounds all over the chest, and the missing hands. Blood was running down the wall behind it, not yet congealed.

"Sherlock," he began gently, but he couldn't keep a note of irritation out of his voice. "There is a dead human in our house!" He desperately hoped this was some science experiment – like the head in the freezer and the hand in the pickle jar – and not some vicious murder.

"Oh, hey . . ." Sherlock sounded mildly surprised, his eyes wide and innocent. "How did he get here?"

"Sherlock, what did you do?" John asked evenly.

"Me?" Sherlock pointed at himself defensively, eyebrows raised. "Uh, no, yeah . . . I didn't do this." His expression was so fake that John could clearly tell he was lying.

Closing his eyes, John pinched the bridge of his nose. "Explain what happened, Sherlock."

"I've never seen him before in my life."

"Why did you kill this person, Sherlock?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"I do not kill people," Sherlock scoffed. "That is . . . that is my least favourite thing to do."

"Tell me Sherlock, exactly what you were doing before I got home."

"Right," said Sherlock. "Well, I was upstairs . . ."

"Okay . . ."

"I was . . . I was sitting in my room . . ."

"Yes?"

". . . Reading a book."

"Go on," encouraged John.

"And, well, this guy walked in . . ." Sherlock's eyes drifted down to the dead man, as if expecting him to respond to the mentioning.

"Okay?"

"So I went up to him . . ."

"Yes?"

"And I . . . uh . . ." Sherlock hesitated, took a deep breath, and then continued. "I stabbed him thirty-seven times in the chest."

There was a short pause in which nobody spoke.

John blinked. "Sherlock! That kills people!"

"Oh! Oh, wow . . . I . . . I . . . tsk!"

While he was fumbling for words, John cried "Sherlock!" again, just for good measure.

"I didn't know that," Sherlock admitted.

"How could you not know that?" John snapped, thinking back to how his sociopathic friend didn't even know the Earth went round the Sun.

"Yes, I'm in the wrong here. I . . . suck."

John sighed. He could tell Sherlock wasn't himself today – the speech patterns, the . . . killing people. Glancing down at the body, he suddenly realised something. "What happened to his hands?" He almost didn't want to ask.

"What's that?" asked Sherlock absently, though he knew quite clearly what John was talking about – the man's hands were completely missing, bloody ragged stumps in their places.

"His _hands,_" John repeated. "Why . . . Why are they missing?"

"Well, I . . . uh . . . I kind of cooked them up," Sherlock admitted, "and ate them."

The ex-army officer was speechless for a moment. "_Sherlock!_" He dragged the name out as long as he could.

"I was . . . uh . . . I was hungry, and well, y'know, when you crave hands, that's . . ."

"Why on Earth would you do that?"

"I was hungry for hands!" Sherlock repeated crossly. "Give me a break!"

"Sher-_lock!"_

"My stomach was making the rumblies . . ." Sherlock added with a smirk.

"Sherlock!"

". . . that only hands would satisfy."

"What is _wrong _with you, Sherlock?"

"Well, I kill people and I eat hands," Sherlock pointed out. "That's two things."

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><p><strong>Just a quick word: REVIEW! I will send out invisible waves of good faith if you review. Also cookies. Lots and lots of cookies . . . :D<strong>


	2. The Sound of Forgiveness

**Due to popular demand, IT'S BACK! This is based on _Llamas with Hats 2_. Again, you don't have to watch it, but it might not make sense if you've never seen it before. Just type it into YouTube - it's only just over a minute long. _ENJOY!_**

**Oh, and I think I forgot to put a disclaimer on the last chapter, so _this applies to all chapters in this fic_: I do not, nor will I ever, own _Sherlock_ or_ Llamas with Hats._ I wish I did, but unfortunately for me, I do not. Sorry! Dialogue comes from _Llamas with Hats_, characters come from _Sherlock_, actual story comes from me.**

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><p>John glanced around. He and Sherlock were stood in a yellow inflatable lifeboat, slap bang in the middle of the ocean. Not too far off, their cruise ship was sinking, flames engulfing it from every direction, thick black smoke trailing into the sky. John also noticed Sherlock was wearing that stupid stripy green hat, and John himself was wearing Mrs Hudson's faded red bonnet. He refused to take it off until Sherlock actually <em>noticed.<em>

"Sherlock!" he exclaimed, thinking back to the events that had just happened. "What on Earth was all that?"

"I'm not sure what you're referring to," Sherlock replied calmly.

"You sunk an entire cruise ship, Sherlock!"

"Are you sure that was me? I . . . I would think I'd remember something like that."

"Sherlock, I watched you fire a harpoon into the captain's face," John said quietly.

"That sounds dangerous," Sherlock pointed out.

John gritted his teeth. "You were head-butting children off the side of the ship."

"That . . . uh . . ." Sherlock seemed to be fumbling for words. "That must have been horrifying to watch."

"And then you started making out with the ice sculptures," he continued.

"Well, thank _God_ that the children weren't on board to see it."

John suddenly noticed something. "Uh . . . Sherlock . . . Why is the lifeboat all red and sticky?"

Sherlock followed his gaze downwards to the base of the lifeboat. "Oh! I guess you could say it _is _red and sticky." He actually sounded mildly surprised.

"Sherlock," said John, his patience wearing thin. "What are we standing in?"

"Would you believe it's strawberry milkshake?"

"No, I would not believe that."

"Uh . . . melted gumdrops?"

"No . . ."

"Boat nectar?" Sherlock tried, smirking slightly as his suggestions got more and more bizarre.

"No!" exclaimed John. He got the feeling he knew what it was already; he just wanted to hear it out loud.

"Some of God's tears?"

"Tell me the truth, Sherlock!" John said tetchily.

"Fine!" He paused, watching John's expression carefully. "It's the lovely elderly couple from 2B."

"Sher-_lock!"_

"Well, they were . . . uh . . ." Sherlock seemed to be searching for an excuse. "They were taking all the crescent rolls."

"I can't believe what I'm hearing." All that time in Afghanistan, and then all that time helping Sherlock solve various heinous crimes, and this was the first time he'd ever been _properly shocked._ This was . . . this was just disgusting. Another two people he had to add to the steadily growing list of Sherlock's victims. Not that he'd be reporting his friend to the police. He knew it was his duty to report a murderer, but when that murderer was his only real friend . . .

"I will not apologise for art," said Sherlock.

"Where are the other lifeboats?" he asked.

"Whoa, you won the prize," Sherlock smirked. "I didn't even notice that."

Sherlock didn't notice something? Yeah, and pigs could fly and llamas could talk. "Where are the other lifeboats, Sherlock?" John repeated.

"Looking at the trajectory of the moon and the sun . . ." Sherlock glanced upwards, a calculating look on his face. "Probably at the bottom of the ocean. I bit lots of holes in them," he added.

"_Sher-_lock!"

"I have a problem," Sherlock admitted. "I have a serious problem."

"You are . . . just . . ." John hesitated, choosing a less accusative word than the one he had in mind, ". . . _terrible _today!"

"_Shh!"_ Sherlock hissed. "Do you hear that? That's the sound of forgiveness."

John pinched the bridge of his nose. "That's the sound of people drowning, Sherlock."

"_That,_" he corrected, "is what forgiveness sounds like: screaming and then silence."

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><p><strong>xD Thanks for sticking with it. Already thinking of doing parts three and four. REVIEWS WOULD BE MUCHLY APPRECIATED THANK YOU! :D<strong>


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